Monday, 31 March 2014

I had a little rest on Saturday and Sunday past when I celebrated my Ruby Wedding Anniversary and Mother's
Day with my family. I love our family parties but tend to need a little
catch up time after the events so I didn't schedule any new blog visits
till today.

Tuesday, 25 March 2014

Whoopee! Today is the official ebook launch day for the 3rd novel in my Celtic Fervour Series of Historical Romantic Adventures- After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

www.123rf.com

In honour of the day I'll introduce you to more of my characters.

My main character, Brennus of Garrigill, who becomes Bran of Witton, the spy, in Book 2 (After Whorl: Bran Reborn) of the series, is being feasted/ interviewed as we get to know him in a fun post over at my friend Vonnie Davis' blog today. You can meet Brennus at http://vintagevonnie.blogspot.com/ so please hop on over and see what he's like.

Here we'll get to know my other two main characters in Book 3- Ineda of Marske and Roman Tribune Gaius Livanus Valerius. I'm going to be interviewing them in tandem - though they think they're being asked questions separately.

At the beginning of Book 3, Ineda of Marske is still a very young woman of around 17. As a 15 year old, she was taken prisoner by Tribune Gaius Livanus Valerius. By the beginning of Book 3 she has been under heavy guard and unable to escape from her master.

Hello, Ineda. Can you tell my readers a little bit about where you are now?

My master, Gaius Livanus Valerius, is still a tribune with the XXth Legion who are at the fortress of Viroconium Cornoviorum. That is such a mouthful of sounds that I make it easier and shorten it to Viro Corno. My master, I am afraid, does not like that so I only do it outwith his presence. Though, there are times when I am so exasperated by him that I do say it to annoy him.

What is the fortress like? Can you tell us a bit about it, please?It is very large. I have not been allowed to set foot outside of it since I was brought here. When I was first set upon by the Roman patrol I was kept in the tent of the tribune and not allowed my freedom. It has been exactly the same at this fortress. All day long I have someone dogging my footsteps but I believe it might be better for these readers you mention to hear it from your own words.

That's a very good idea, Ineda. I'll ask you some more questions a bit later on today but till then, for my readers, here's an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Book 3 After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

And later on today, Gaius Livanus Valerius will be in the spotlight, so pop back for that.

AD 74 After Lughnasad – Viroconium Cornoviorum,Cornovii Territory

“It is a fine day, is it not?”

As expected,
Ineda received a scant nod but no conversation from the legionary officer as
she passed him by. Though she persisted in greeting people, she was still
regarded with suspicion, perhaps even derision, but she had learned to bear the
treatment and did not let it sour her.

She looked
around her as she walked to the market area, her latest tironis guard at her
heels, Zosimus having been replaced when his novice period as a first level
recruit was over. Whether or not Zosimus had made the next rank of militis she
did not care about. His lugubrious presence was gone though the irony of his
name had to be borne out. One likely to survive was what he had said when asked
about its meaning. Holding back her laughter had been a trial since the lad had
been fairly witless.

She had not
bothered yet to ask her second tironis keeper what his name meant but this
newest one was a young man of different sorts. He had only been her guard for a
few days but she was not sure she trusted him. Only just come to the huge garrison
fortress of Viroconium Cornoviorumshe
was surprised at how many people he knew already, his attitude vastly different
from his forebear. She had a feeling he was answering to more than Tribune
Valerius.

“Velius?”

She was not
surprised when he jumped into step alongside her since his orders were clearly
to walk behind her, unless required for some task. His fervency to duty put her
on edge, as much as his presence beside her. Just short of a lascivious look,
his eyes admired too much when he had the opportunity to look her directly in the
face. She put any doubts aside though, and probed. His readiness to answer was
of possible use to her, though how she had not yet worked out.

“What would
you have me do, Ineda?”

Not earning
the title of lady did not trouble her. Her status as a slave hardly merited
anything like that, though she often wanted her name to appear less familiar to
all who spoke to her.

“Where did
you come from? I mean before you came to Britannia and were sent here to this
garrison?”

His light
grey eyes twinkled, the quirk to his mouth one she had become used to even in
such a short time. “You would not have heard of it.”

“How would
you know such a thing?”

Though she
guessed she was younger than him by a few seasons, he was a confident young man
for his age. Her answer must have been firm enough since he replied, even
though it was as if she asked a very foolish question.

“My people
are of the Chauci.”

Ineda
grinned. “The Chauci? Let me see…”

Lately, she
and Tribune Valerius had come to an accommodation whereby he shared general
information about the Roman Empire with her
when they dined together. She listened to him and even sometimes commented on
it. He improved her knowledge of Latin every day and she explained the
Brigantian Celt he had difficulty over. Their conversations had become
more…sociable. Not convivial but easier, the turning point having been after Tribune
Valerius had learned about the death of his betrothed. She still deeply
resented her captive status but found that searing hatred was difficult to maintain
day after day.

She had
begun to dislike herself, had felt the cloying detestation was changing her
personality. Snapping and harping at everyone just was not her nature. She had
come to a decision that even though she could do nothing about her captivity
she would not allow it to destroy her spirit. Since she had made that judgment,
she had forced herself to enjoy some aspects of her life.

Meaghan’s
words made more sense now. She wore the bratt of acquiescence in Tribune
Valerius’ presence and about the fortress, but underneath it still vowed to
find a way to thwart Roman domination.

“What do I
know about the Chauci?” She toyed with the guard who now strode alongside, all
the while thinking of a recent conversation. Tribune Valerius had told her
about a friend of his who conducted a similar role as tribune with a legion in
the lands Velius spoke of.

“Your
native language is of the northern Germanic tribes?”

Velius did
not conceal his surprise, was extremely vocal about it when she went on to talk
about the northern place his family still lived in.

“You will
be no stranger to our cold damp weather, then? Tribune Valerius tells me the
lands you come from are far colder in the winter than we have it here, and that
you live close to sea access?”

Velius was
delighted to tell her about his homeland, even confiding that his becoming an auxiliary
soldier of Rome
was not his own choice. There were many young conscripts from his tribe
attached to the legions, the human tithe payment to the Roman coffers. Treaty
agreements demanded their conscription.

Ineda
sighed. His fate was really no different from many of the Celts of Britannia.

“I thought
at first you must come from a Roman Family. Is Velius not a Roman name?”

He shrugged
as though unconcerned, but she had an inkling he truly thought otherwise when
his answer came after they had passed an oncoming group of soldiers. “It is the
name that has been given to me by the legion.”

“What does
Velius mean?”

A full blow
grin showed his many strong teeth, large and predatory. “I have been told it
means a concealing one.”

A laugh
leaked out. Ineda thought it appropriate. “Would you rather I call you by your
Chauci name?”

Velius’s
head shook – his returning gaze gone flat and lifeless. “I am not that boy any
more. Drastic changes make you someone else.”

Though she
said nothing, Ineda heartily agreed with him. She was not the same girl who had
journeyed with Bran, not the same person who had vowed to be a Celtic messenger
for her king. It crossed her mind that someone in Velius’ position might be
useful to local Celtic insurgence. Someone, yes, but probably not Velius. What
she needed was to find a contact who could guard his tongue.

“My body
debt to Rome
has barely started but already I am stronger.”

Velius
sounded proud and that confused her. A deep sadness crept over her. She too
paid a different kind of body debt to Rome,
though she desperately hoped her term of allegiance would not be as long as
Velius’.

“Five and
twenty winters is usual, is it not? Engaged to fight against all the enemies of
Rome?” His
short nod was sufficient, she already knew the answer.

Till later...and Gaius.

Well it's now later, Ineda, and time to meet Gaius. Before I let him have a word what do you think you could tell us about him?

Apart from that I hate him?That I wish he would set me free and let me return to my own people? That he is often a very bad tempered man?

Well, then, we'll just share a bit of his part in the novel.

....

Gaius. She now allowed herself to think of him as Gaius and
even named him so as well when directly speaking to him. His persistence that
she should do so had eventually wore down her reticence.

A small
measure of enjoyment was had as she learned more and more about Gaius’ world,
her natural curiosity fed. She became a woman of two parts as well as one who
wore two bratts. Day after day she was drawn more and more in to the life of a
Roman, her former Celtic identity pushed into abeyance. It was only when some
important insurgence happened that her Celtic loyalties came to the fore.

“You have the white puss and
swelling still under the wound, Gaius, and for full healing it must be drawn out.
My grandmother would have made a paste of plantain and some other herbs, but I
have none of these. Would anyone have such things at Deva? Already in a paste
or the fresh growth?”

Gaius had just returned from a short
journey to Cambodunum, to the site of a permanent encampment. Governor
Frontinus had marked out the area as an excellent site for a small fort and
Gaius had started to send supplies. Unfortunately for him – though something
which delighted Ineda – the supply wagons were being intercepted by local
Celtic warriors and small skirmishes were frequent. The convoy he had
personally accompanied had been attacked, but since the guard was heavy enough
the Celtic assailants had fled after only a short foray.

“How should I know such a thing,
Ineda? My dealings at present are about iron and copper supplies, not plantain,
whatever that is!” Gaius was bitingly terse, obviously annoyed that the pain
was sufficient to bother him, all evident in the grimace he darted her way.
Brushing her aside he clutched at the goblet of wine.

Quelling anger at his offhand
attitude, she bit her tongue to keep from being just as rude. A deep breath
taken, she looked away from his wincing features and summoned control of her
emotions. “You use herbs when you give prayers to your goddess Etain.”

Only after drinking deeply from the
cup did Gaius deign to answer, his gaze confrontational. His teeth crunched
together, his lips pursed against the pain. “That is different from me knowing
where they come from!” Quarrelling with him was not uncommon, but this incident
was exacerbated even more by his hurting. “Why ask me? How should I know such
things? Go from my sight if you cannot help me.”

Gaius noticed the fleeting hurt she
was unable to hide from her expression and glared at her all the more. Having
come to dislike him less, being treated badly hurt her ambivalent feelings.

“Ask Rubrius! He should know these
things.”

She had an idea who Rubrius was, was
certain he was one of the superior surgeons, and was also fairly certain the
surgeon would not spend time with her. But she did know one of his militis, a
man friendly with one of Gaius’ clerks.

Stomping off in high dudgeon over
Gaius’ harsh behaviour, her temper was still roiling when she reached Rubrius’
quarters and requested to speak to his militis. “I am told that Rubrius used the services of a healing woman
to acquire herbs for some of his unguents? Is this true?” That she was rude to
the man did not trouble her, though it would have in her more temperate
moments.

“Orchil?”

“I do not know her name! Tribune
Valerius needs treatment for his wound. Where will I find this woman?”

“Does he need our immediate
assistance?” The man looked bothered. “We have many wounded soldiers to deal
with right now, but I will ask Rubrius to tend to the tribune.”

She began to feel harassed when the militis
glared, though her words were measured with care. “The wound needs treated, but
given the proper unguent I have the skills to deal with it. All I need are the
correct essentials to make the paste. If the woman has plantain I can do what
is necessary.”

Though the man looked sceptical, he
told her where to locate the woman named Orchil.

Ineda felt the blood surge around
her body. Orchil lived outside the walls of the fortress! Was this her chance
to escape after being so long a prisoner behind the walls? Excitement mounted,
her thoughts whirling.

“What is this I hear? I am extremely
busy!”

Ineda roused quickly from her
momentary distraction. The man striding towards her looked to be important and
yet full of bluster as his words rattled on.

“I am Rubrius and you are Tribune
Valerius’ whore. I heard you say you wish to talk with Orchil, the herbs woman?
And you say you can deal with the tribune’s wound yourself?” His disdain
dripped from every word, his sneer accompanied by a lascivious glare.

“With plantain I can. I have the
other items I need to make a paste to draw out the white puss that is under the
skin.” When Rubrius continued to stare at her without saying more, she named a
few other herbs she knew were available to her.

“Is that all that ails the tribune?
I thought him to be much needier of my expert services. What you name should
work well enough.” Dismissing her, Rubrius turned and bawled at one of his
underlings. “Fetch a guard and personally escort this slave to Orchil. See that
she returns safely to the fortress. The tribune would be most upset if his
personal woman ran off. He would not wish to be the butt of any ribald jokes
when evening comes, though I dare say many of the soldiers within would make
haste to recapture her. There are many of us who have to do without the
services of a private whore.”

Before striding off, the man’s chin
moved right down to her face. “Your beauty causes much resentment at this
fortress!”

Something of her grandmother,
Meaghan’s, words of so long ago came back to her as she was marched to the
dwelling of the old healer. Though she had no recollection of the actual phrase,
she remembered Meaghan commenting that her healing skills would be needed after
a long time of no use. She also remembered Meaghan saying something about
always looking forward to the good and not to dwell on the bad. It was not the
first time she had been referred to as the tribune’s whore, and most likely not
the last but it hurt – badly.

Sunday, 23 March 2014

25th March 2014 is highlighted in my desk diary...as the official launch day for Book 3 of my Celtic Fervour Series of Historical Romantic Adventures - After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks.

In preparation for the Facebook Launch Party I've organised some blog visits to spread the world about my latest book release. I also sent out a press release to my local media outlets and I've certainly been successful with my local Inverusrie Herald who put on a spectactular 'page 3' spread for me.

Meanwhile, here's another little Sunday Snip for you to enjoy from After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks which is already available in print and ebook formats from:

As Brennus made his
way into the lands of the Damnonii, the news from each new village and hamlet
was increasingly disturbing. Evidence of Roman patrols seemed to be everywhere.
The settlers who lived in the coastal villages had alarming tales to tell of
many sightings of Roman vessels which had been seen hugging the shoreline.

“Do they beach the ships at any
time?” This question of his had been voiced in many places.

The answer seemed to be consistent.
“Aye, they do. Small Roman patrols disembark and make small camps, their first
stop always to establish a nearby water supply. They terrify the farmers and
villagers across the territory but have only engaged in attacking the locals if
they are directly threatened.”

“Has that happened often?”

The next part was also consistent.
“Aye! Those who are left flee. They have no wish to die under a Roman gladius
but they have been able to return to their soil fairly soon after. The Roman
patrols make their observations and then leave quickly.”

“These ships do not disgorge
hundreds of soldiers? They do not build any of their small forts?”

“Nay! Only small numbers of the
Roman scum come to shore but do not linger. They move quickly across the land.”

“Where do they go when they leave
their first camps?” Brennus had a feeling the answer would not be favourable.

“Where, I am not sure, but I suppose
they must go back to their vessels because they sail off after only a few
days.”

Brennus nodded; it sounded very much
like Roman tactics. “Aye. I can believe that. Once they take on a fresh water
supply, and the venators bring some kill, that would be time for them to
leave.”

His guides could not say if the
people who dwelled well away from the coast had seen any Roman presence,
therefore he deemed it necessary to travel inland. It was high summer so the
travelling was fair. The terrain they traversed was peppered with undulating
hills, the population who settled there fairly sparse. Some of the even higher
slopes were much like the hills between the Brigantes and Selgovae, the
moorland too wild and inhospitable for crop growing. He was not surprised to
hear of few dwellings there and was glad his guide knew how to skirt the
highest peaks to find habitation.

At each new hamlet, his question
rarely varied and his answers were returned in like fashion.

“We are valley farmers, Bran. We
only see our nearest neighbours a few times over the seasons when we celebrate
our feast times, but we have certainly not seen these soldiers you describe to
us.”

At every stop, he pulled out his ocarina and
flute and entertained the settlers, Nith and Esk providing some fare for their
communal eating. At every stop, he established a strong chain of messengers.
And at every stop he looked for a leader who would rouse the people into action
against the Roman Empire – but nowhere did he
find that man. He would not allow himself to become despondent, though it was a
trial to carry on at times. The farmers he spoke to would fight for their own
land, there was no doubt of that, but there was a great reluctance to fight
against an enemy they had only heard talk of around the fireside.

The shrill whistle
of a distressed kingfisher rent the air. Brennus hand-signalled his band to
scatter through the forest fringe, knowing Esk’s alarm meant Roman troops were
close by. The strident version Esk could produce was piercing, yet so
realistic.

Taking cover behind a large boulder
outcrop, he sidled along to allow Lorcan space.

“They must be very near. Your Esk is
the best scout I have ever encountered. We must give great thanks to Callan for
recognising his worth.” Lorcan’s whisper tickled his ear.

Rather than speak he nodded as Esk
mimicked another bird, this time the Red Grouse as though the bird had been
startled into an upwards flurry from the heather: the signal that it was only a
small group of Romans. Their use of bird calls and animal noises had been
perfected and had helped keep the band alive more than a time or two.

Pulling his bratt over his light
coloured hair, Brennus slowly peered around the side of the rock. They had been
forced to traverse the lower foothills almost the whole journey to avoid
detection and he was weary of the need to slink past the Roman scum. Along with
his brother and his small band of followers they had agreed that a confrontation
every time they encountered the forces of Rome
would do them no favours. The otherworld was too likely a result for some of
them since they had come across so many patrols. However, that did not mean
they would not fight if an opportunity arose where they were likely to be the
victors and come out of a skirmish unscathed.

An animal noise was just
discernable, the soft repetitive scratching of a red squirrel clawing at tree
bark. Nith. He was much better at animal noises.

Brennus could see no sign of any
Romans but pulled back to mouth at his brother. “Only around ten of them.”

A grin broke free. He had no present
notion of exactly where his companions were except Lorcan, but Esk and Nith’s
alarm calls meant they were nearby. The others wouldn’t have gone far either.

Lorcan’s dunt at his elbow drew his
to the other side of the outcrop. “Over there.”

Lorcan’s whisper was drowned by the
new sound of tramping feet. The Roman patrol was walking alongside the burn at
the hill foot. There was too much exposed ground for Brennus and his men to
attack them in their current location but if the patrol continued their present
direction they would soon enter the copse that lay ahead of them. It was likely
that they would since Brennus knew the far side of the copse led to the pathway
which opened out at the glen of the eagles. There had already been a temporary
camp there when he had set out seasons ago to seek out the Caledon leaders. If the Romans continued
their usual practice then a permanent camp was probably now somewhere near
since it lay on the strategic north-east route up through the territory of the
Venicones to the River Tatha.

Peering out Lorcan’s end of the
outcrop he caught sight of Esk’s spear tip just above the rock where he was
sheltering, though the man’s body remained invisible. Giving a soft hoot
Brennus waited for Esk’s head to peek out. After giving a silent hand signal to
remain above the patrol and negotiate a path that would lead to the copse below,
he expected his men to follow when he and Lorcan silently set off, maintaining
their cover.

It took only a short time for Brennus’ band to
be in place, ahead of the Roman patrol.

“Now!” His alarm cry sent his
companions out from their hiding places.

The ring of metal on metal was
almost instantly all around, the surprised cries of the Roman auxiliaries a
sound that was most welcome. He had managed the element of surprise, the small
group of Romans unable to form any kind of defensive shield. They were doomed.
Nith had been correct. Only twelve Romans and his group outnumbered them by
seven.

Lorcan’s battle cries deafened his
ears, his brother’s long sword crushing the lorica hamata of the nearest
soldier of Rome.
Not enough to penetrate the links, the blow was still strong enough to send the
smaller man to his knees, one of Trune’s men at the ready to whack the Roman’s
neck.

Brennus’ spear slammed into the
upper leg of an escaping Roman, Esk moving in to finish off beheading the
screeching soldier. Similar engagement was all around the area, blood and flesh
spattering around till all noise was extinguished.

Brennus bent down to retrieve his
spear from the auxiliary’s leg. The half rent head lay in a pool of dark red
blood, the eyes surprised by the speed of the attack. It was just a young lad,
Brennus guessed not much more than sixteen winters.

He beckoned his brother over to the
carnage at his feet. “Agricola’s troops seem younger and younger.”

“Aye! And he looks no different from
our young warriors, wherever he has come from.”

“Is anyone hurt?” He called around
to check on his band.

Nith replied, kneeling at the side
of one young warrior. “Only two wounds but neither is a serious one. A binding
will suffice for now.”

Friday, 14 March 2014

There are only 11 days to the launch of After Whorl: Donning Double Cloaks so it has to be time to meet Gaius Livanus Valerius, tribune of the Legio XX ...and for a very short time tribune militum of the Legio IX, a secondment at a time when the Ninth Legion was marching northwards through the lands of the Votadini, and the Venicones- modern day Scotland.

In Book 2 of the Celtic Fervour Series Gaius Livanus Valerius takes Ineda of Marske prisoner and makes her his personal slave.

It isn't a popular choice for him to make, and he becomes very out of favour within his garrison fort at Viroconium Cornoviorum, but he has his reasons for not allowing Ineda her freedom.

Here's an excerpt from Chapter Four:

It was not long before circumstances improved more to
Ineda’s liking. Escape was still as elusive, but her purpose changed when Tribune
Valerius took her with him when he was posted to the encampment at Deva. Though
the Cornovii had largely been subdued for some time, the rebuilding and
improvements to the earlier abandoned wooden fortress had been delayed till
shortly before their arrival. The troops needed to build it had been deployed
elsewhere for many seasons, but the present Governor Frontinus had decided the
time had come to release sufficient soldiers from other legions to build the
new structure.

Having seen
a little of the assembly of the fort at Nidd, and having lived for so long at Viroconium
Cornoviorum, Ineda saw many similarities, though the Deva garrison fortress was
much larger. Situated on a headland, the river meandered below. It was also
close to a natural harbour on the western coast and would dominate any sea
traffic in and out of the area. The position was ideal for containing the
Brigantes, the Setantii and the Carvetii to the north of it, and effectively
kept the local tribes to the south of it under control, with little unseen
intermixing of the tribes.

The new
walls of the fortress were in place before they arrived but the construction of
interior buildings was still underway. Manned mainly by auxiliaries, the noise
behind the walls was deafening as building after building took shape. The whole
interior was already so well laid down it was easy to walk around, the paved
walkways being laid out in similar fashion to Viroconium Cornoviorum. She could
not help being reluctantly impressed by the whole organisation within the Roman Empire. The function Gaius currently performed in
supplying the necessary iron to make construction nails and other building
supplies was being mirrored across the empire.

Gaius. She
now allowed herself to think of him as Gaius and even named him so as well when
directly speaking to him. His persistence that she should do so had eventually
wore down her reticence.

A small
measure of enjoyment was had as she learned more and more about Gaius’ world,
her natural curiosity fed. She became a woman of two parts as well as one who
wore two bratts. Day after day she was drawn more and more in to the life of a
Roman, her former Celtic identity pushed into abeyance. It was only when some
important insurgence happened that her Celtic loyalties came to the fore.

“You have the white puss and
swelling still under the wound, Gaius, and for full healing it must be drawn
out. My grandmother would have made a paste of plantain and some other herbs,
but I have none of these. Would anyone have such things at Deva? Already in a
paste or the fresh growth?”

Gaius had just returned from a short
journey to Cambodunum, to the site of a permanent encampment. Governor Frontinus
had marked out the area as an excellent site for a small fort and Gaius had
started to send supplies. Unfortunately for him – though something which
delighted Ineda – the supply wagons were being intercepted by local Celtic
warriors and small skirmishes were frequent. The convoy he had personally
accompanied had been attacked, but since the guard was heavy enough the Celtic
assailants had fled after only a short foray.

“How should I know such a thing,
Ineda? My dealings at present are about iron and copper supplies, not plantain,
whatever that is!” Gaius was bitingly terse, obviously annoyed that the pain
was sufficient to bother him, all evident in the grimace he darted her way.
Brushing her aside he clutched at the goblet of wine.

Quelling anger at his offhand
attitude, she bit her tongue to keep from being just as rude. A deep breath
taken, she looked away from his wincing features and summoned control of her
emotions. “You use herbs when you give prayers to your goddess Etain.”

Only after drinking deeply from the
cup did Gaius deign to answer, his gaze confrontational. His teeth crunched
together, his lips pursed against the pain. “That is different from me knowing
where they come from!” Quarrelling with him was not uncommon, but this incident
was exacerbated even more by his hurting. “Why ask me? How should I know such
things? Go from my sight if you cannot help me.”

Gaius noticed the fleeting hurt she
was unable to hide from her expression and glared at her all the more. Having
come to dislike him less, being treated badly hurt her ambivalent feelings.

“Ask Rubrius! He should know these
things.”

She had an idea who Rubrius was, was
certain he was one of the superior surgeons, and was also fairly certain the
surgeon would not spend time with her. But she did know one of his militis, a
man friendly with one of Gaius’ clerks.

Stomping off in high dudgeon over
Gaius’ harsh behaviour, her temper was still roiling when she reached Rubrius’
quarters and requested to speak to his militis. “I am told that Rubrius used the services of a healing woman
to acquire herbs for some of his unguents? Is this true?” That she was rude to
the man did not trouble her, though it would have in her more temperate
moments.

“Orchil?”

“I do not know her name! Tribune
Valerius needs treatment for his wound. Where will I find this woman?”

“Does he need our immediate
assistance?” The man looked bothered. “We have many wounded soldiers to deal
with right now, but I will ask Rubrius to tend to the tribune.”

She began to feel harassed when the militis
glared, though her words were measured with care. “The wound needs treated, but
given the proper unguent I have the skills to deal with it. All I need are the
correct essentials to make the paste. If the woman has plantain I can do what
is necessary.”

Though the man looked sceptical, he
told her where to locate the woman named Orchil.

Ineda felt the blood surge around
her body. Orchil lived outside the walls of the fortress! Was this her chance
to escape after being so long a prisoner behind the walls? Excitement mounted,
her thoughts whirling.

“What is this I hear? I am extremely
busy!”

Ineda roused quickly from her
momentary distraction. The man striding towards her looked to be important and
yet full of bluster as his words rattled on.

“I am Rubrius and you are Tribune
Valerius’ whore. I heard you say you wish to talk with Orchil, the herbs woman?
And you say you can deal with the tribune’s wound yourself?” His disdain
dripped from every word, his sneer accompanied by a lascivious glare.

“With plantain I can. I have the
other items I need to make a paste to draw out the white puss that is under the
skin.” When Rubrius continued to stare at her without saying more, she named a
few other herbs she knew were available to her.

“Is that all that ails the tribune?
I thought him to be much needier of my expert services. What you name should
work well enough.” Dismissing her, Rubrius turned and bawled at one of his
underlings. “Fetch a guard and personally escort this slave to Orchil. See that
she returns safely to the fortress. The tribune would be most upset if his
personal woman ran off. He would not wish to be the butt of any ribald jokes
when evening comes, though I dare say many of the soldiers within would make
haste to recapture her. There are many of us who have to do without the
services of a private whore.”

Before striding off, the man’s chin
moved right down to her face. “Your beauty causes much resentment at this
fortress!”

Something of her grandmother, Meaghan’s,
words of so long ago came back to her as she was marched to the dwelling of the
old healer. Though she had no recollection of the actual phrase, she remembered
Meaghan commenting that her healing skills would be needed after a long time of
no use. She also remembered Meaghan saying something about always looking
forward to the good and not to dwell on the bad. It was not the first time she
had been referred to as the tribune’s whore, and most likely not the last but
it hurt – badly.

“Aye! I have what you need.” The old
woman cackled as she went about collecting the items Ineda requested. “So, the tribune
is not immune to a Celtic sword? Sometimes our Celtic brothers strike back
successfully. I would that more of them were successful against this Roman scum
that floods our land!”

Stunned that Orchil would be so
openly ridiculing, Ineda found herself lost for words. Gaius could have been
killed, but she also rejoiced that there was still some resistance to Roman
domination of Celtic territory. She was amazed that the old woman voiced her
opinions so loudly but at least the soldiers who accompanied her were outside
the roundhouse.

Orchil grumbled ominously as she
handed over the herbs. “Your whoredom status is known to all, Ineda of the
Brigantes, but that need not mean you should be termed Roman. Those who refuse
to accept the tyranny of Rome
need the support of every Celtic heart. If your tribune had been killed what
would you do then?”

Ineda had no idea what to answer.
Her confusion was total. Her mumbled words of thanks given she left quickly, in
her agitation bumping against the wooden door post.

“Come back when you have something useful
to tell me so that I can pass it along, Ineda of the Brigantes! You are still
of the Celtic people and always will be. Remember that.” Orchil’s words rang
out as Ineda sped away.

While returning to Gaius she
deliberately put the old woman’s comments from her thoughts, thoughts that
whirled her whole journey back. Orchil could not possibly mean what she was
thinking? Maybe was even secretly hoping? Had the herbs woman indicated she
could pass messages along to insurgent Brigantes? Orchil had also mentioned
something troubling as well. What would be her fate if Gaius died? It seemed
the dislike she felt from many of the soldiers that she encountered may not be
because she was a Brigante slave, but more because Gaius had stirred resentment
in keeping her as his personal woman instead of sharing her like a camp
prostitute.

During her absence Gaius had drunk
more wine, the almost empty flagon a sure sign something was amiss. Soft snores
greeted her when she tried to waken him but he slept on. The salve was fully
ready by the time he stirred.

“What is that mixture?” He winced in
pain as he sat up, his arm jarring against the cot with his sluggish movements.

“The unguent you need to draw out
the white matter that lies beneath the skin. This paste will draw it out and
clean the wound from beneath the skin.”

Gaius seemed sceptical, though
clearly interested in her movements as she used her stone pestle to transfer
her mix from the mortar to a small pot. “How do you know this will work?”

Encouraged by his tone she poured
clean water from a jug into a small basin and then dipped in her wiping cloth.
“My grandmother was the healer of our village. She taught me many things about
tending ailments.”

“We have skilled surgeons here at Devawho treat the wounds of our casualties.”

Though his words could have been a
rejection of her skills his tone said otherwise. It held a question, maybe a
doubt about her expertise, yet also held a trust in her.

“Aye! I know this. And they are very
busy with other wounds just now, but if you prefer to wait for Rubrius, that is
your choice.” Though she would never divulge what had happened, she was not
confident the surgeon would even look at Gaius’ wound after what the man had
said to her.

Gaius holding out his wound told her
his intentions. The glint in his gaze was trusting… and even… affectionate.

“I trust you to heal me, Ineda. You
have had many opportunities over many long moons now to have poisoned me, yet
you have not.”

She did not know what to think as
she cleaned the wound. Uncertainty flooded her since she no longer knew where
her loyalties lay. Gaius was her lover, and to all effects her hearth husband,
even if no hand-fasting had occurred. But he was Roman.

He was also the father of the babe
in her womb that was soon to be born, though he had no knowledge of that as
yet.

Wednesday, 12 March 2014

Hello! It's always wonderful to have new visitors and that's what's happening today. I'm opening the door to Gilli Allan, who has come to share her thoughts on planning a novel. I'm finding a lot of similarities over how she works, and how I find myself writing my new works in progress, in as much as I'm basically a 'pantser' who lets images and ideas flood in from different stimuli... and sometimes that takes quite a while. Gilli is also sharing information about her books -in particular - Fly or Fall. (Check details below for a Kindle countdown deal from today- 12th March 2014!)I love the startling cover image! Welcome Gilli, and over to you...

What is the key that opens up a story?

I
envy the writers who are able to conjure up an entire story, producing a
skeleton plot or a detailed synopsis, before they begin a book. It
sounds easier than the way I work.I
think of my next book like a shuttered up house.I may have some concept of the front
elevation but I have very little idea of what is going on inside. What I need
to do is find the key to unlock the front door.I find the story by going from room to room, flinging open the shutters
to let the light in to see what’s inside each one.

The key to ‘TORN’ came to me on a car journey to Somerset. I was the
passenger and I had just a split second to register a turning on my side - a
lane sloping steeply down to the centre of a village. Evidently the road we were on had been
developed as a by-pass. ‘I bet those
villagers were pleased to have the main road re-routed,’ I thought. ‘But what about the home-owners living along
this road?’

Life is rarely black and
white. There are always two or more sides to every question. TORN grew from this
single thought. A single mother takes her young son and runs away from an
abusive relationship in London
to find sanctuary in the country. She wants a quiet life with no entanglements,
where she can devote herself to being a good mother. But there are stresses and
strains here too, and the people she gets to know are on different sides of the
argument about everything, from lifestyle to a proposed bypass. She is TORN
between the suitable man and the unsuitable boy.

I’ve attended a life class for many years and always thought it
would make an interesting setting for a novel. And LIFE CLASS would be a good
title. But I didn’t have a story.I
began to think about women I knew and the jobs they did.I have a friend who, at the time, worked as a
lab technician in an STI clinic.This
was the key that opened the door to my imagination. What if my heroine did this
job? It might bring her into contact with many different people - some possibly
known to her - at a vulnerable time in their lives. Tempting for her to make
assumptions about sexuality and life-style. Add into the mix her sister - a bored
housewife, their art teacher - a sculptor, who feels a failure, and a damaged
boy, who knows all about sex but nothing about love. They all need to confront
past mistakes and accept that love has many faces.

I first began writing FLY OR FALL many years before TORN or
LIFE CLASS.I had two books already
main-stream published and I wanted to get on with the third.As I had before, I began searching for the
key to it by looking at my own life experiences. I knew about moving house, the last time was only
four years previously. How would I feel if I’d moved unwillingly? If it had all
been my husband’s idea? I began to think
about a woman who dislikes change but after her invalid mother dies, she is persuaded,
against her instincts, to move house from Battersea, in London, to an area where she knows no one. To
further disrupt and depress her, the new house needs modernisation.

I had some experience of ‘having work done’ on the house,
but I’d never been propositioned by a builder.I’d inferred from women I knew that this was a commonplace and sometimes
welcome element of home improvements! I don’t believe I gave out encouraging signals
and, in truth, there’d never been a workman that I’d found remotely attractive,
but what if....?All these thoughts
rumbled around in my head as the story progressed.

I was now doing an evening bar job at my local squash club,
and even though I’m fairly sure I still wasn’t giving out the right signals, bar
maids are fair game it seems. It occurred to me that my heroine could take a
similar job which would expose her to an entirely different world to the one
she’d left behind in right-on, politically-correct Battersea.

Gilli Allan

It was then that real
life began to mirror events in my story rather than the other way around. My
mother died unexpectedly and my husband was head-hunted. Suddenly my world had
been turned upside down and I was faced with exactly the same dilemma I’d given
my heroine.The job was in
Gloucestershire, a county neither my husband nor I had ever set foot in, let
alone had friends in or connections to. But it was an extremely good opportunity;
I had a portable career and I’d always fantasised about living in the ‘real’
country.

Even
though I supported our move, I found myself living through many of the events
and emotions I’d imagined for my heroine - grief, displacement, loneliness and
feeling like a fish out of water. I put
the still untitled book away and, though I admit to having tinkered with it
over the years, I lost interest. Last year I decided to have another look at
it. I’d only read the first chapter when the title Fly or Fall jumped out at me. This was the key I needed to revamp
the book.I could instantly see what
wasn’t working and why. I knew how to re-write the story, to both bring it
up-to-date and to give it a new, believable and satisfying conclusion.

FLY OR FALL is on a ‘UK only’ Kindle Countdown from Wednesday 12 March, for
3 days.

So,
what about the query posed at the beginning of this piece - what is the key....?
It can be many things - a momentary image, a real-life experience, something
witnessed or recounted to me. It’s what happens next, where that opened door leads
me, which is more fascinating.